Meticulous
by whovianallover
Summary: Molly Hooper was never who he thought she was. Dark!Molly. Oneshot.
1. Meticulous

_**A/N A little Dark!Molly I wrote to cheer me up whilst feeling a bit down.**_

_Meticulous._

She never broke character. Not once. Sherlock pushed her around. He used her. Molly Hooper was stronger than she seemed. Jim always underestimated her abilities, so she never worked for him. Every year she would find him in her flat asking only once whether she would help him, be on his team, and every year Molly refused. It wasn't any sentiment on her part that stopped her. It was because Jim Moriarty needed a pawn; someone who could easily slip by and lull Sherlock Holmes into a false sense of security. He would leave the big finale up to someone else, maybe even do it himself. Molly didn't like that.

Molly was just as capable of getting her hands dirty as anyone else in her field. She may have been the little pathologist in the morgue to anyone else, incapable of swatting a fly. Come night, she was a lot more. The days of the pathologist who would go unnoticed were done. Molly had grown up. She would execute meticulously planned hits herself, perfectly. Molly wouldn't give up the satisfaction of finishing off her own hit to work for someone where she wouldn't get any of the action. Where was the fun in that? What was the point?

Molly had enjoyed every second of her time decieving Sherlock. Asking him out for coffee, feigning hurt when he turned her down, acting jealous of a dead woman who seemed to catch his eye. Watching his brain tick over, watching him deal with her little crush on him every time she improved her lie made her happier. Even when Jim popped in, under the pretense of being Molly's boyfriend, Sherlock had believed it all. She had become an excellent liar very quickly and he was so easy to fool. Sherlock had believed her big act so easily, Molly couldn't wait to turn it all upside-down. She couldn't wait to see his face.

Molly knew that Moriarty was planning to kill Sherlock. She had known even before Sherlock had. Moriarty was bound to do it someday. Molly wanted so desperately to drop the act, and get to the punch before Jim could. Maybe she would torment him a little first, let him think that maybe someone else was pulling the strings, and she was just acting on threat of death. She would watch his face as he realised - No, this was Molly Hooper through and through. Quiet, compliant Doctor Hooper. This is who she became at night. Maybe he'd try to appeal to the humanity in her. Maybe he'd yell out for her to stop - that she is better than this.

_Sorry, Sherlock. I'm worse._

Molly found a way to stop herself. She was convinced Sherlock wouldn't die. Moriarty was clever, but he never guessed who else was on the opposing team.

Sherlock came to her as she was leaving the morgue. The lights were off in the lab and Molly had reached for the door when he spoke. _This is it, _Molly thought. He told her of his problem. The Final Problem. Jim had always been dramatic. She told Sherlock that she would help. She was still 'mousy little Molly.' Part of her wanted out. _Just tell him! Trap him someplace and let it be the last thing he knows. _Yet the other half of her, her more intellectual half, wanted to wait; she wanted to see how everything panned out before her game was up. She had always been too patient. She wanted it to be perfect. Meticulous.

Sherlock slept in the dimness of Molly's flat, Molly watching his breathing from the door frame. It had been three days since his faked suicide. He was broken. He wouldn't speak to her. Sherlock would barely acknowledge her on the days he left his bed. Molly smiled. He was broken, but for how long? She would plan his demise for another day. Maybe in a week, or a month, or two days would it come to pass. Maybe after enduring Moriarty's game he deserved to be left alone for a bit. After all, the man _had _just lost his best friend.

No, this was big. She didn't think she could wait.

_**A/N So my first Dark!Molly because I needed a pick-me-up and I noticed Sherlollians are very lacking in that respect. What did you think? -Rose**_


	2. That Is All

_**A/N Trigger Warning: Character Death. Because that's the way the story wanted to go. **_

_**A few people wanted a second chapter so here you go. This will be the last chapter.**_

Pain. That was all. He would catch glimpses of outside: her nonchalant face, the grey walls, his bound hands, but that's all they were, glimpses. She had stopped now. The knife had ceased dragging against his skin, cutting deeper and deeper into his skin. Into his soul. "Molly," he breathed. His voice was hoarse. Screaming did that. He no longer cared that his wrists and ankles were burning from the ropes that bound him, he just wanted her to _stop._ "Molly, _no_."

Molly was perched on a backwards chair, a small smile gracing her lips. She would have been pretty, Sherlock thought vacantly, if she wasn't cutting him to pieces.

"Oh?" Molly said, eyes harsh. "Does Mr. Holmes want something?"

"Who is controlling you?" Sherlock asked. Molly's laughter bounced around the room. It was bitter. "Is it Moriarty?"

"_Jim?"_ Molly asked, biting back a laugh and sitting back in her chair, which was now facing the right way. "You know he _is_ actually dead," she fiddled with the knife. "You can relax. I didn't work for Jim. He was a great bloke, but no." Sherlock began to interrupt. "Nor," Molly said over him. "did he ever work for me. We had what you'd call...mutual respect for each other's business. He did offer me a job few months before he died. But I declined. "

Sherlock took a breath in. His Molly. _His Molly. _Sherlock noticed she hadn't stammered once in their entire interaction. Who was this person? This was who she became. What had happened to turn her into this? How long had she been this way? All of those years he had neglected her; all those years he had used her, was that what he missed? That she was murderer; a killer?

"Oh, yes," Molly said, a smile playing on the edge of her mouth. "Take a moment, love, this must be difficult for you to digest." Molly dropped the knife onto a brushed steel wheelie table by her side. It made a 'chink' sound.

"Yes," Sherlock replied curtly. He looked up at her and saw a different Molly, now. She was confident and strong; everything he had pinned her as not. Her hair, up in a messy bun, hung loose against her scalp and her dress, tight and black, clung to her skin. She was comfortable in herself. She didn't mind the black kitten heels she would otherwise avoid. Sherlock was seeing a Molly who was better in all of the worst ways.

"Okay, Sherlock, time's up." Molly said, inspecting her nail beds which, Sherlock noted, she had painted red.

"Are you going to give me a choice; make me sacrifice myself for my friends?" Sherlock asked. He looked around the room slowly, cataloguing the exits in the room. One. One heavy, metallic door, right behind Molly.

Molly laughed into her hand, the red of her nails making her skin look ghostly pale. "No, no, no, no." Molly picked up the knife from the wheelie table, running her finger along the hilt. "No, love. Jim tried that, didn't he? Always the dramatic. That was his downfall. He wanted a show. No, love, I'm going to make this very easy. You don't have any lines today, my dear. Just relax." Molly raised the knife and plunged it downwards.

And then there was pain.

That was all.

_**A/N What did you think? Pick up on any plot holes, grammar errors etc? Drop a review!**_

_**-Rose **_


End file.
